


The Most Beautiful Man in Darre

by The Prettiest Boy in Darre (Scottyottyotty)



Category: The Inheritance Trilogy - N. K. Jemisin
Genre: F/M, Matriachal society, Woemn warriors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 14:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6757444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scottyottyotty/pseuds/The%20Prettiest%20Boy%20in%20Darre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From N.K Jemisin's The Awakened Kingdom, this fanfic details OC's in the world of Darre. A matriarchal society with flipped gender roles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Beautiful Man in Darre

Chapter 1 

The setting sun painted the sky an array of color so beautiful, Yeine herself would stop to admire it. The stone of Sar-enna-nem, the great rise of a temple, took on the pinkish orange hue as a testament. Twilight would settle over Darre soon. Proper clanson’s would be ushered indoors by protective sisters or fussy fathers. Strong mothers and women would be returning home from long days of trading, blading, or labor. The temple will surge and swell with all kinds. The last for the worshippers for the dayfather, along with the first for the Gray Lady. Many would simply move over as time progressed. Sar-enna-nem had always been a home for the Three. Many of the Darre respected each of them equally and had prayers for them all, but some still held favorites. Twilight and dawn brought more parishioners than day or night, but that was to be expected. 

Three cloaked figures waded through the crowded temple. Passed the floors of priests and up to the topmost floor, into the worship space. The mosaic tiles were dotted sparingly with ancient statues of godlings, some long dead. Quietly sweeping through the worshippers of Yeine and to the secluded, nearly empty corner reserved for the Nightlord. Here, as darkness crept over Darre, worshippers of Nahadoth caused small instances of chaos. A fist fight in the dark. Men shedding their robes, offering themselves to any woman who would have them. The God of chaos demanded the oddest praise, and there were always those willing to give it. Three women, each smothered in black cloaks and clanging with armor underneath, huddled together in wisp of shadows that gathered as night descended.

“Why are we here?” Said one of the women, clearly annoyed and not trying to hide it.

“I swore an oath, and I will see it through till the end,” another woman answered, doing a poor job of holding back a laugh. 

Two sets of eyes rolled beneath their hoods.

“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t change our armor.” 

“Because they love to take care of warriors where we’re going,” she said with a playful bang on her nervous friends chest plate.

“How long is this going to take? I can’t be gone this long.” 

“My gods, Bieva, if you’re this frightened you shouldn’t have come,“ the third woman blurted. “Apologies,” she quickly amended. “We removed you from all list and spheres. It’s the last day of Warriors Training, you more than any of us deserve to enjoy it.”

Bieva sighed to herself. The quick flare of anger she felt at being yelled at went away with the same speed. Angusu was right, she was worrying too much, not that she could help it. Her mother made sure that she triple checked herself at every move, a quirk that would serve her well, if she were to be ennu one day. 

The older women were already watching her, whispering to themselves. Bieva was a fine warrior and she knew that. She had to, as any warrior would trust in their own skills. Far was Darre was from its day of war, but the way of the warrior had not died just yet. Bieva and a few squads of others trained in the old ways, just beyond the proving grounds, as to maintain a wealthy Darre’s standing army. She had come a long way in the few years, yet her skills were not what they whispered about anymore. She was growing, and as Darr she needed to marry and have daughters. 

None of the prospective men her mother suggested had suited her. Or suited her just yet. Bieva did not know why she faltered on choosing a husband. There was nothing wrong with any of the boys she met with. All of them draped in the finest cloth imported from Semn, with long black hair. Some were even pretty, a few pretty enough to override the idea that he was a stranger. As she mulled it over in the corner of Sar-enna-nem, waiting on Nialni’s contact, she understood it a bit better. 

Any man she would marry now would be a stranger. 

It wasn’t uncommon for a woman to take a man she didn’t know, or even like, to father her children. Many of the women from the training yard had a husband chained away in a spare bedroom, only to be ridden when she so pleased. Bieva wanted more. She wanted more from a husband than children. She wanted partner to share in her life. To help her, comfort her. After combing through tariffs, taxes, and state issues with the Warriors Council for hours on end, she wanted to come home to a friend. Not some pretty little clanson that had nothing to say. Bieva wanted to court her prospects, take her time, but she felt rushed. Her mother pressured her into a decision daily, the council, even her prospects looked down on her to choose. She couldn’t, not yet. So when Nialni suggested a night away from the training yard, Bieva pounced on the opportunity. A night in the city of Arrebia with her close friends. Though, she was starting to have second thoughts.

Nialni bristled, excitedly getting her friends attention. An old man, all angles and thin planes, spryly trotted into the the shadows, moving steadily toward them. Nialni stepped out to greet him, sliding a jingling leather pouch into the elderly man’s waiting palm. She raised her chin, looking back at her friends, and nodded them over. Without a word the old man turned and started out of the temple. Bieva followed behind Angusu, who slowly trailed behind Nialni. She could tell that Angusu was having the same second thoughts she was, but she’d never admit it. She was stubborn, but her honesty more than made up for it. 

The light had faded from the sky for the moondown was soon approaching. They rode the wave of people who would skip the prayers in the dark to Nahadoth out of the temple. They followed the main streets for a while, until the old man slipped down an odd side street behind the temple and followed into the lower town that rested in the pyramids shadow for a good portion of the day. Old buildings lined the streets, people coming in and out of them in a weak stream.

Orbs hung like lanterns from strings high on the buildings edges, casting an orange yellow glow on the dark streets of the little square Bieva jogged into. The old man was still swift as a boy, and allowed no sightseeing of the lesser Arrebia that Bieva never explored. The people became much different from what they knew of Darre. The men wore considerably less than the robes Bieva was used to seeing them in. Their hair pinned up in ostentatious configurations. The women spat and drank in the streets, occasionally eyeing them with something less than respect.

Angusu gasped and stopped short as they rounded a corner and came upon three wooden row houses. She turned, facing her friend, her features drawn tight in the weak glow of lantern light. “She’s taking us to the sharing houses,” she whispered to Bieva as she drew up to her. 

“By the brightest of hells, Nialni, a sharing house?” Bieva said in the best hushed whisper that she could muster at that moment. So it came out more like a scream.

“Oh stop it, the both of you,” Nialni said, with no mind to her booming voice. She was still happily bouncing on the balls of her feet. She signaled to the old man to wait for them as she started up the steps to the first row house. “Neither of you are good little father’s girls. Show me your Darr! Where’s the woman in you?!

“We all need to blow off some steam. So I say, we go in here,” she pointed over her shoulder at the unassuming row house, “and do everything to these men a good clanson would frown upon. We’ll be better women and wives because of it.”

“None of us are married,” Angusu sighed. Her face looked more forgiving than a moment before, but she remained rooted to the spot she had stopped. 

“Then maybe you should stop playing with your prospects and choose one,” Nialni said, a touch of annoyance in her voice. 

Angusu and Bieva both drew back, by her abruptness and something else. 

“You’ve chosen a husband then? Bieva asked. 

“Cieum mau Essum tai wer Lecis,” she said proudly. “And to be a good, knowledgeable, wife, I’m going inside. Come in when you get your heads on straight,” she turned and marched up the steps. 

“She’s serious,” Angusu huffed. “Cieum mau Essum,” she said softly after a long silent while in the dim street. 

“One of yours too?” Bieva asked, seeing that the news of Nialni’s betrothal took more out of her friend than she was letting on.

“These boys just peddle themselves out to anyone don’t they?” She grunted, a sharp, angry sound.

"I don’t think it’s that simple, Angusu,” Bieva said, hoping her voice sounded comforting and not as awkward as she felt. “Maybe you did…dawdle on choosing a husband.” She let out a huff of air, laced with disrespect. “Take your own advice, friend.” Angusu eyed the sharing house, kicking her foot against the ground. With a sudden rush of determination, she stalked toward the the row house. 

Left with no one to talk her out of it, Bieva went inside as well.

The stilted wooden house was nothing to look at from the outside. The wood was not the dark wood of the forest outside the city, but a weak, graying with age, cheap import. The inside was extravagant; to Bieva’s surprise. 

The entire first floor was dedicated to comfort. Plush sofas and chairs ringed the room, some big enough to support a few wide backed women, enjoying long haired men in linen pants and no robes, whispering things to make them smile into their ears. More robeless men strutted through the room, some with drinks to serve, others escorting a smiling woman up the wooden staircase to another floor. Bieva felt a flush of embarrassment, which spurred her mind into rapid thought.

What if I see someone I know?

I know everyone.

My mother will kill me where I stand.

Bieva felt a chill start at her crown and ripple chillingly down her shoulders. A smiling man slipped around her, her cloak still in his hand, he slinked the cloak the rest of the way off before Bieva could protest. He had a mouth like an ornate hunters bow, his perfect teeth beaming as his mouth slowly curved into a smile. He was dark as darrewood shellacked in honey resin. A brown on brown that whipped itself into a smooth complexion. His eyes were the color of a newborn fawn, with flecks of umber and mahogany. Those winsome eyes held her, as her cloak was handed off to a passing man and hung in a closet.

“You’re nervous,” he said, his voice a low growl in her ear, just over the string quartet that filled the perfumed air with music. “No need to be, medre.”

“I…I’m not,” Bieva stammered. He was just as robeless and shirtless as the rest. The smooth brown of him was taut around a strapping frame. She tried to divert her eyes, ignoring a rising in her gut that she refused to explain to herself, but rather ignored. “I came with friends,” she said after a moment of looking at anything but the half naked man in front of her.

“If you mean the two that just came in, they are being taken care of quite well, medre, so let’s talk about you.”

Bieva squirmed, no longer able to ignore the warm flutter moving south of her gut she silently cursed herself and her traitorous body. Her eyes darted around the room, only half heartedly searching for her companions. A few foreign women, mostly Amn, mingled in with the giddy Darr. But Angusu and Nialni were nowhere in sight. Bieva assumed they must have been escorted upstairs already. She sighed to herself, there was no one left to talk her out of anything. She reminded herself to give Nialni an earful.

He took in her uncomfortable expression, never dropping his smile, but dropping his hands and taking a step back from Bieva. He held his beautiful head to one side, studying her from top to bottom, his tied up hair wobbling. He darted away, jarring Bieva further, across the room to an old woman, old as the man they had followed there, but with an important stance that merchant women adopted. Bieva had decided she was an important woman after all, removed from the crowd and half watching the going-ons around her. After a quick whisper in her ear, she flicked two fingers at him and shrugged. He flashed a grin at Bieva and stood to his full height. His slippered feet padded across the carpeted room, into the center. He held up his arms, swirling his wrist around, signaling all the unattached men to him. No, not all, Bieva realized, but one willing participant.

Another man, dressed the same with his hair tied up into a different but still interesting up do, stepped forward. They circled each other, moving with finesse and agile feet. Once circled and positioned in front of each other, they each brought up one arm held parallel to their faces, and bowed deeply to each other. Bieva pushed into the room, curious at their funny little dance. It was beautiful, and respectful. A touch more intricate than a dance. The two men began to swirl around each other, coming close to contact, but never connecting. The preoccupied women took their eyes off of their temporary pretty boys and paid attention, even some men watched, the ones who were busy.

One would swing a leg, as if to kick the other, and the other would gracefully duck his head, arching his back, and roll out of the way. The moves were arching and dramatic, their sinewy bodies spinning and moving in ways Bieva never thought about. They moved in circles, never touching, but never apart. In unison, the twirling men reached up and let down their hair. Two streams of long black hair babbled out around them, joining in the swirling mass.

Bieva was transfixed. Their circle had grown thick with spectators and Bieva got a front and center spot. Her blood was up, it was like training! The same excitement she felt when training with her thick handled knife in hand, coursed through her as she watched the dance. The man who had taken her cloak made sure to look at her when he could take his eyes away from what he was doing. Bieva was sure he wanted her to watch him. His whole body screamed for her to do so, and she couldn’t ignore it. He was so beautiful her eyes wanted nothing else than to sop him up and lick the rest off of her fingers.

A tall, blonde Amn woman turned to Bieva, a flush in her cheeks, “I just love Darre,“ she wheezed in flustered excitement. Bieva tried to smile back, but couldn’t. She took two steps away from the woman, who was devouring the intense dancer with her eyes.

Bieva, without really meaning to, decided on the spot that she wouldn’t lose the most beautiful man she had ever seen to a foreign woman.She waited until his all consuming eyes touched her again, passing over the Amn woman to do so, she noticed. When he looked at her, she smiled and nodded her raised chin to the staircase. A flood of embarrassment washed over her instantly. She felt like a barbarian woman, but did not entirely hate the feeling. 

 

The spinning men completed one last pass at each other before ending their display in a respectful bow, just like they started. Both men were covered in a thin sheen of sweat, it slicked the back of Bieva’s hands as he approached her, placing his hands on the ones she had on her hips. The Amn woman huffed and changed focus. Together, Bieva and her spinning beauty, moved backward through the thinning crowd of onlookers. Some of the other women frowned at her, left with the other option to pounce on, not that Bieva noticed. Her eyes stayed with the man in front of her, locking her hands with his as he pulled her willing body to his. 

 

“You watched me,” he said smiling, breathing just a little heavily.

“Was that for me?” Bieva asked, knowing the answer.

His wide smile penetrated deep within her. She did not know what to do, and went with the feeling that had escaped her gut and tingled all over her body. The women she knew weren’t beguiled by men, even if they were fiercely devoted to their husbands. A woman of Darre was supposed to control the natural urges that made men brutes, because without it they could hurt themselves and others. But, Bieva couldn’t help it. Never had a boy performed to get her attention before, and she was impressed in spite of herself. 

 

“I’m appreciative,” Bieva told him, taking a few shy steps toward the stairs, pulling her prize along with her. 

 

The pair shuffled up the stairs. Guiding her down a carpeted hall, many closed wooden doors lined the walls, he played with her body.. Running his hands up and round the exposed parts of her armor. Teasing her as they moved, a quick kiss on the neck, a soft stroke down her front. He opened a door at the end of the hall and wasted no time in removing Bieva’s gray armor. She let him this time. There was nothing for her to do, he knelt and began to work, skillfully releasing clasps and placing her armor down with respect. She remembered Nialni at the temple, “they love warriors where we’re going.”

“I’m Bie-,” she tried to get out, but he stopped her, popping up from the clasps and straps of her cuisse, and pressing a finger to her lips. 

 

“No, medre,” he said in his low growl. He let the finger drop and pressed his lovely lips to hers. 

 

“O-okay, wo,”Bbieva breathed against his mouth.

He pulled back like he was shocked anyone would address him with respect. His eyes darted all over her, trying to make sense of the woman in front of him. 

 

“What?” Bieva asked at his sudden stop.

“You flatter me, medre, but there’s no need for that,” his smooth smile was back, but Bieva decided to chase the issue.

“Tell me your name, or I’ll have to keep calling you, wo,” she said, proud of herself for speaking without stuttering. 

 

He looked lost for a moment, considering her offer, and considering how to get around it. Slowly, he went back to removing Bieva’s armor without an answer. She stepped back, but finished taking off the piece he was working on. 

 

“I’m Bieva,” she said again. 

 

He sighed, standing up and clasping his hands in front of him. “Desoke,” he said finally, although a bit more reserved than earlier.

“I don’t like strangers, Desoke-wo,” Bieva said, still taking off her armor but watching him as she did. 

 

He flinched but nodded, “I can understand, Bieva-medre.”

“Just Bieva,” she said, down to her underclothes. They finally matched. 

 

He shook his head this time. “There are rules here, medre,” he said, sounding only slightly serious. 

 

“Explain them to me, then,” she stepped toward him again, feeling his warmth. 

 

He took her arms, sliding his soft hand up and down them, then slipping them to her waist. “I’m not some good little clanson,” he said. “You won’t find any of them here, so need to address me as one.” He dropped his linen pants, exposing his glory, and stepped out of them. She removed hers too. He kept one hand on Bieva’s as he moved to the bed, releasing it to lie down. His member rising high and hard as he prepared to be mounted. 

 

“You’re cut,” Bieva noticed.

She also noticed the ease in how he lay down. The few boys she had, had been timid and overexcited. She sent many prayers to any of The Three who might have been listening that none of them had been high enough to be a prospect for marriage. 

“Most here are trimmed,” he said, pushing up on his elbows. “A sign of a past life, long gone from here. Come, medre,” he reached a hand out to her again.

She took it, stepping onto the plush feather mattress, and climbed atop him. Suddenly she gasped, one of his lean arms wrapped around her waist and guided her down. His hips rose up to meet her waist, and she cried out to several gods. It was strong, but not overwhelming, certainly a move no clanson would have ever tried. At least the ones she had sampled. 

“No good clanson, okay I agree,” Bieva said in-between gasps of pleasure. 

 

He laughed. A deep, rolling sound from the gut. “Starting to understand me are you, medre?”

“Bieva,” she said with a roll of her own hips.

“Bieva,” he moaned back, his head lolling and the long beautiful river of black hair fell from his face. 

 

They found their rhythm to a dance Bieva had never done. His hands found her body and weren’t afraid to explore. Desoke proved to be everything he said, not a good clanson, but she found so much more. No man she knew, or had heard of, was able to please a woman the way he pleased her. The boys she had been with were always within her control, quiet and submissive. Not Desoke. He was a stud beast, worthy of being chained in a back room for pleasure, but he was gentle, beautiful, and creative, earning his freedom in the same stroke of his hips. Never had she been flipped over and taken, like Desoke was the one riding her!

Pleasure washed over her, sunk down into her, and washed away all cares she could ever have. Desoke curled up behind her, spent and breathing warmly onto her ear. With her hunger sated, Bieva began to lose her confidence. He wasn’t a stranger anymore, but a greatly unsuitable man to bed her. Some of that heat left her, and Desoke peeled away from her. Worry that he felt her change, or somehow heard her thoughts, welled up in her. 

 

He crossed the room to a little serving cart in the corner, and fixed himself a drink. Bieva moved to get herself back in order. She stepped back into her underclothes and began to strap up her armor. Desoke came over, pressing his cup into Bieva’s hands and taking over her armor for her.

“You’re fumbling,” he chuckled. “Still no need to nervous, medre.”

Bieva cleared her throat.

“Bieva,” he said, but this time with a smile spreading across his face. 

 

She tipped the cup to her lips, tasting serry flower juice with some strong spirit folded in. It made her wrinkle her mouth and brow, but the sweet sting of it was calming. “That’s good,” she admitted. “Strong as all the hells combined, but good.”

“I made it weak as I could, but-,”

The door creaked open wide enough to allow a tiny head to peak in, Desoke froze. 

 

“Prulo sent me,” a small voice said. She whispered loudly, not wanting to come into the room, but wanting them to hear. 

 

Bieva turned her head and wandered to the other side of the candlelit room. She didn’t want the little girl to see her, feeling shame at the sight she knew the girl saw.

“He said this one’s companions are searching for her, causing a ruckus they are,” the little girl said.

 

Bieva’s head whipped around in shock.

Desoke nodded, still kneeling where he’d been caught retying Bieva’s armor, but his movements were small and tight. “Thank you, Kitke,” he said in an near whisper. 

 

The head withdrew and the door closed. 

 

“There are children here?” Bieva nearly roared. “Girl children no less! She couldn’t have been anymore than five!”

 

“Would you prefer boys?” Desoke said, finally standing, but fixing her with a hard stare.

“No!” Bieva spat. “I’d prefer no children! Who’s is she? She doesn’t…”

Desoke narrowed his eyes at her. “More than one man here has children.”

Bieva’s flaring temper drew up short, “what?”

“Ueino, medre is…kind to men like me. Men with no options. Men who have been left with children to raise while our women chase lives of fancy, or leave Darre altogether.”

Bieva toyed with the cup in her hand, remembering that she was supposed to drink from it, she did, not knowing what else to do. She had no idea that men with children ended up in sharing houses. What woman would allow her daughter to live such a life? It bothered her. A Darren girl should never be thrown away. She was a future asset to the nation, something to be cultivated and trained into a worthy woman. Not to be a servant in a sharing house. 

 

“Do you have any?” Bieva said, to fill the silence. There wasn’t much left of her armor to reapply thanks to Desoke’s adept fingers. She finished the rest herself, seeing as Desoke had lowered himself onto the edge of the low bed and didn’t touch her again. 

 

“You’ve already met my Kitke,” he sniffed. 

 

“She was yours?!” 

 

Instantly regretting her outburst, she tried to smooth it over, but Desoke was offended and she knew it. He politely thanked her and opened the door, leading the way back to the parlor to flirting men and fawning women. Bieva tried to grab his hand and thank him, and apologize all at once, but he smoothly slipped out of her grasp and disappeared back up the steps. Bieva’s heart sank in her chest, and she cursed it because she didn’t know why it felt that way. 

Angusu and Nialni were standing together but not talking. The other women in the room were eyeing them suspiciously. Nialni had a half moon grin on her face, Angusu seemed to be trying very hard not to scowl. Her friends gave her small greetings, Nialni more excited than Angusu. Bieva’s presence perked Nialni up, but Angusu remained as sulky as when she went in. 

 

The old man, Prulo, opened the door for us, motioning us out. 

“What did you two do?” Bieva asked, Desoke’s rippling hair and beautiful lips still in the front of her mind. 

 

“Old Gusy, and I made a bet,” Nialni snickered. “Who could bed the most. I won.”

 

The three of them rejoined the world outside. Following the way that Prulo brought them. Angusu explained that Nialni had gotten over excited and started to harass the men, challenging a few women to fights. Thankfully Angusu was there to stop it all. She’d been with Desoke longer than she thought. Morning was only a few hours away, but she could have sworn it was only an hour. 

 

“Gusy is just a sore loser,” Nialni said, her arms lackadaisically thrown over her head, strutting her way back into the empty inner city. 

 

Bieva nodded because she felt like she had to, Nialni had paid for that. But her mind was still with Desoke, and little Kitke, peaking at the parlor from around a corner. Bieva wondered if her father knew she did at. She knew it was all for not to think about the pair of them, knowing she would never see Desoke again, because her foray into sharing houses was over. But, she rehearsed her apology just in case she ever did.


End file.
